


The Sticking Place

by rabbabey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, F/M, Female Marauders (Harry Potter), Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione will be OOC, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), References to Shakespeare, Time Travel Fix-It, but also because she is bffs with the marauders, come for the emotional trauma, mainly because she is not growing up under the constant threat of war, stay for the socially inept neurodivergent trying to write about friendship and fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27670331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbabey/pseuds/rabbabey
Summary: 'Harry would not be the Macbeth of the story, she would make sure of that. He would be brave, noble Macduff, prophesied to be a slayer of evil, he would be the man born not of woman and he would live, he would live and that would be enough.She tried to forget that this was a tragedy.'Hermione Granger has always understood sacrifice for the greater good. She is desperate to save her brother in all but blood, Harry Potter, no matter the cost. She does not really remember him anymore, but she will still save him. And he will be alive. And it will be enough.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Hermione Granger
Comments: 30
Kudos: 123





	1. The Before

* * *

_"...Transported me beyond/This ignorant present, and I feel now/The future in the instant." -_ Macbeth, Act One Scene Five

* * *

PROLOGUE: The Before

* * *

“I don’t have long left. I’m sorry I have to entrust this to you, Miss Granger, but I can think of no other individual more capable. You, of course, have the option to decline.” His blue eyes were lacking the twinkle they normally held, his blackened hand hidden beneath glittering mauve robes.

“I don’t really though. I won’t leave Harry, no matter the cost. He’s my brother in all but blood.” She said firmly. Dumbledore’s harsh blue eyes softened slightly and she could almost see tears in his eyes.

“You’re brave, Miss Granger.” He said lowly. Silence enveloped the room for a moment before she looked him in the eyes.

“What will happen to my parents? They'll be hunted. Tortured. Killed.” She hated the way her voice cracked, the weakness that still shone through slightly.

"Not if they're hidden.”

"They won't go along with it. They'll want to be with me. They'll never agree.”

"Then," he paused, tiredly. "Perhaps an executive decision must be made.” But surely he couldn’t mean…?

"Obliviation?" She felt ashamed of herself for knowing what he was referring to. Ashamed that she had already thought of it, long before this conversation. The Headmaster smiled unhappily, resolutely.

"For people like you and I, Miss Granger — sometimes the end justifies the means.” The two of them fell back into silence for a moment until she looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Something has been bothering me about the prophecy," she confessed, quietly. It was alarming to her how calmly she said it, how monotonous her voice stayed. "Neither can live while the other survives.” He didn’t correct her, didn’t reassure her that things will be fine. He merely nodded, solemnly.

She knows it, then.

"And if he asks me?" she said, feeling sick. "Am I supposed to lie? Tell him he’ll live and grow old with Ginny and be happy? That he’s not got a piece of Voldemort inside him?” They stared at one another. He looked different now; brittle and cold — or maybe she was finally seeing the flaws in the design.

"Sometimes a lie can be a kindness.” His half-moon spectacles were crooked.

"Are you afraid, Sir?”

He let the question hang in the air. "To die, you mean?” She gave a curt nod.

"No," he said. "When you're as old and tired as I am, a long sleep is welcomed. The weary will envy me."

She likes the sound of that lie.

* * *

A dark mark was suspended above them, vibrant green and glittering. It was almost beautiful. The old wizard lay broken on the floor, his dead body bathed in green light. Hermione watched on, splattered with blood that was not her own. The constellation of skull and snake was reflected in his still crooked glasses. Just behind it lay his eyes, closed and relaxed in a slumber from which he would not wake. He was telling the truth, after all.

She does envy him.

* * *

“What do you think I’ll do when the war is over?” He asked one night as the two of them pitched their tent, the absence of Ron weighing on the both of them heavily.

She turned her head away.

“You’ll live, Harry.” Her voice cracked. “You’ll live and you’ll be so happy.” She likes the sound of that lie.

He looked at her strangely, but shrugged with a grin.

“So will you.”

She likes the sound of that lie too.

* * *

They were outside the tent, bracing the cold wind, standing shoulder to shoulder. Trees surrounded them from all angles. The clearing she’d found was barely big enough to fit the tent.

The screaming had been going on for a few minutes by now.

“Is it real?” He whispered to her. The locket looked heavy on his chest; his shoulders slumped from the weight of it. The chain had left bright red marks around his neck. His eyes were frantic as he searched the darkness. He looked half-mad. “Do you hear it, Mia?” He asked again, looking searchingly into her eyes.

She knew it was real. She could hear it. Someone who hadn’t been as smart as she whilst they were trying to hide, someone who had been caught by the Snatchers.

She knew Harry wanted to help; he was always so eager to save everyone, even if it cost him his own life.

“I don’t hear anything, Harry. It must be the Horcrux.”

Eventually the screaming stopped. And she knew somebody was dead because of her and she could feel the blood slicking her hands. _‘Out, damned spot!’_ , she thought macabrely, staring at Harry’s finally sleeping figure. He was shifting about restlessly, something he never used to do when they were younger.

She did feel like Lady Macbeth these days.

“You are too full o’ the milk of human kindness to catch the nearest way.” She whispered quietly, eyes trained on her baby brother. Harry would not be the Macbeth of the story, she would make sure of that. He would be brave, noble Macduff, prophesied to be a slayer of evil, he would be the man born not of woman and he would live, he would live and that would be enough.

She tried to forget Macduff’s whole family died. She tried to forget Lady Macbeth’s madness, the way she plummeted from her tower. She tried to forget that this was a tragedy.

She looked at Harry’s sleeping form and knew that somebody wouldn’t ever wake up again.

But she would do anything to ensure Harry was the one that always woke back up.

Anything.

* * *

Everything was dark and she knew only pain.

Hermione was losing her sense of reality with every new blast of pain that flooded every inch of her being and burned her nerves like torches. Her voice was fading more and more with every scream, but she couldn’t withhold the wild, desperate shrieks that were tearing out of her raw, bone-dry throat. Her eyes were clouded and all she could see was the blurred figure of the witch who leaned over her, just inches from her face. She could hear Harry screaming her name and pounding the wall, but it was all blocked out by a ringing in her ears.

“What else did you take out of my vault?”

Hermione cried even harder during the respite from any pain, allowed by Bellatrix only so that she could speak. She had given Bellatrix the same answer five times now, a rapid shake of her head ‘no’. There was a loud sigh from Bellatrix before another scream of the Cruciatus Curse.

Another brief reprieve, but she was asked nothing this time. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her lip was quivering like she was going to vomit, but she had stopped caring. Frank and Alice hadn’t given up and neither would she. Her head lolled to the side and she could see Draco Malfoy with a remorseful look on his face, silvery eyes that showed an apology.

Bellatrix grabbed her face and twisted it towards hers, laying her body over the top of Hermione’s petite frame.

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me, Mudblood? You will after this, that I promise you.” She felt Bellatrix’s hands pull up her sleeve and hold her arm in place. There was a searing pain, like fire, as the knife sliced into her flesh. Hermione’s voice, that had been struggling to scream, seemed to be renewed at that point. She let out a high-pitched, blood-curdling shriek, tears rolling down her cheeks as her body tried to move away from the pain. “What did you take?” She just furiously shook her head again and the woman sighed, pulling her other sleeve.

The icy pain once again filled her, feeling as though each of her nerve endings had been sliced in half. Her brain felt half-cracked, filled with white ooze, with static. _‘Accio brain!’_ She thought tiredly, trying not to laugh. And, oh, this was where Lady Macbeth’s madness came from, she understood now. The urge to jump, to escape. The urge to fly.

But where did that leave Harry?

She dug her nails into her palms and looked Bellatrix in the eyes.

“Please, we haven’t been in your vault. We found it!” Her tongue felt sharp as she spoke. It was relief she felt when the woman pulled her head up by her hair and stared at her in the eye.

Bellatrix’s weight eventually moved off of her and her head lolled to the side once again, tears dripping down her cheeks. Her body was twitching with the aftershocks of the Cruciatus curse and she could feel warm blood dripping down her arms. Fenrir had a small grin on his face as Bellatrix turned to him.

“You can have her. I need to go to Gringotts.”

“Like hell he will.” She heard Harry say. She just curled up on the floor, too tired to keep going. She focused on the chandelier above her and the harsh cracks of spells. She felt arms grab her and looked up to see Harry. “It’s okay, Mia. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe. I love you. You’re okay.”

“Love you, my little brother.” She whispered weakly as they apparated away. She missed the look on Harry’s face, the look of utter loyalty and love and the strange hope and acceptance that, _holy shit, he had a family_.

“I love you too, Mia. My sister. You’re safe. I’ve got you, you’re alright.”

Hermione slept.

* * *

“We lost.” She said lowly, staring into the portrait of the man they had once deified. Ironic. Tears washed away the blood from her face and the portrait eyed her wearily. “We had every horcrux, even Harry. We should be—“

“I know. I know.” Said the portrait softly.

“Harry and I are the only two left. Everyone else has abandoned our cause or they’re dead.” She said coldly. “We can’t win. Not anymore.”

“There’s always hope, Miss Granger. You just have to look for it in the right place.” She refrained from scoffing.

“It’s a pretty lie.” She said quietly, trying to withhold her anger. She does not like the sound of this lie. She wants brutal honesty, she wants a way out of here, she wants Harry to be safe. Hermione thinks of him then, the way he had curled up in the Room of Requirement and sobbed in her arms, the way he slept fitfully, the note she left telling him she would be back soon.

“This is the truth. There are other realities, other times where people can be saved. Where the War can be won.” He said. She leaned forward in her chair and watched his pale blue eyes intently.

“You have a contingency plan?”

  
“Yes.”

“Will it save Harry?”

“Not just him, Miss Granger. You could save everyone. You could allow Mr Potter to have everything he has ever desired; a family, a normal life, freedom from the prophecy.” The cogs whirred in Hermione’s brain as she looked up at him, trying to ignore the cold, manipulative eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

“Just me carrying it out? Whatever this… mission is?” She almost missed the cruel twitch of his lips, a small smile at winning over this girl.

“Yes. Harry will be a… liability on your journey. He is a Gryffindor to the bone, as are you, Miss Granger, but he does not understand the vitality of the greater good. He would sacrifice himself for a beetle. Going alone is your only chance for survival, for Harry’s survival.” She nodded, her mind flickering back to the screams from the Horcrux hunt, the girl that Harry would have died to save, even if she played no major role. She steeled her expression and looked up at him.

She was the Lady Macbeth, the planner, the brains behind the operation. She was going to save everyone and she would do it on her own fucking terms.

This was the only way to wash out the stains on her hands.

“What do I do?"

The portrait of Albus Dumbledore grinned.

* * *


	2. The Grangers

* * *

_“To die—to sleep,/No more; and by a sleep to say we end/The heart-ache”_ — Hamlet, Act Three Scene One

* * *

CHAPTER ONE: The Grangers

* * *

Jean and Hugo Granger had moved in to a small house in a quaint little village when they were nineteen, two years after they started dating, two years after Hermione was born. He often referred to being 17 as the best year of his life.

Hugo was tall, messy golden curls that, if he didn’t cut his hair in a while, made him look like he had a mane, and a kind smile, with emerald eyes and a vast amount of knowledge about football that he was willing to impart upon anyone who listened.

Jean was young and pretty, with eyes the colour of whiskey and dark, frizzy hair. She had a certain penchant for baking and a soft spot in her heart for animals of all kinds. They were in love, had matching dentistry degrees from a prestigious university, married and moved in to Number 37 Verona Lane by the age of twenty-three.

It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Jean loved Hugo’s entire family, particularly his younger sister. Hugo was particularly fond of his sister, spoiling her at every birthday and Christmas. Both felt an odd sort of connection with her that they had never spoken aloud about — it was something ineffable, something inexplicable, but both treasured her as they would their own child.

Hermione Jean Granger was born prematurely — expected on November 28th, but instead born on September 19th 1959 — meaning she was very small, even for a baby. Her parents were both old now too, past the age expected to have children. She had her brother’s honey-coloured curly hair, which Jean pretended to moan about daily, as it was already proving to be a nightmare. Her brother often called her his ‘Little Lion’ because of her riotous curls.

She was a quiet baby, almost never crying, instead just staring up at them with wide eyes, like she recognised them. She muttered to herself in her ‘baby language’, as it was referred to by Hugo, quite a lot, but always giggled and smiled when her brother and his girlfriend made faces at her or mock argued with each other, as though she understood what was happening. She liked it when Jean read to her or when Hugo sang to her in his lilting Irish accent. She liked it when it rained outside and she liked when her mother would let the cat visit her and she liked the baby food that was flavoured with apples and cinnamon. She liked visiting the park and she liked power cuts, where Jean would light candles that smelled like lemons and oranges and Hugo would hold both of them tight until the electricity flickered back on.

She was six now and Hugo often felt old just looking at her. She was bright (scarily intelligent if you asked him) and brilliant and funny and he loved her so much.

Their parents had dropped her off at their house for Halloween and had gone out to a party with their friends. He swung Hermione up into his arms which made her laugh brightly and sat her down with Jean. Dutifully, his wife _(His wife!! He loved her so much and never thought she’d marry him in a million years)_ pulled out some face paints and began to transform Hermione into their parents’ cat, lovingly named Minnie by Hermione when she was only two. Hermione insisted on red paint for the whiskers, tilting her face up obediently as Jean half-stuck her tongue out, concentrating on drawing straight lines.

Hugo bowed out, grinning at his two girls, to dress up in his own costume. They would take her trick-or-treating and pig out on sweets with her.

Being with Hermione was bittersweet. Jean had recently discovered she couldn’t have children and she was everything he imagined his own child being.

“What the hell are you wearing, Hugo?” Asked Jean, looking at her husband of two years with a grin on her face. Hugo looked down at the toilet paper that covered him and grinned at her, doing a twirl and nearly falling over, which made Jean snort and Hermione giggle.

“It’s Halloween, my love. I’m a mummy.”

“It’s raining, you know. You’re going to turn into mulch.” Jean said fondly as she adorned Hermione’s hair with a set of cat ears.

“We could use him to paper mache the house, Jeanie.” Hermione said very matter-of-factly. Jean laughed, ruffling Hermione’s already messy hair. “Can I please paint your whiskers, Jeanie?”

“Fine, you can paint me, but don’t get it everywhere. At least both of us will end up looking like craft projects at the end of tonight, Hugo.”

“A matching set, Jean. That’s how you know we’re soulmates.”

“Git.”

It was a good night, if you ignored the wobbly whiskers on Jean’s face and the trail of wet paper towel that followed them courtesy of Hugo and the running red paint from Hermione’s face, which dribbled onto her hands and neck and looked like blood.

Hermione stared at it for a long time when they returned home.

  
Hugo tried not to worry about the fearful look on her face.

“The paint won’t wash off, Hugo.” Jean said from where she was wiping Hermione’s hands dutifully.

“Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this supposedly water-soluble child’s face paint clean from my hand?” He responded with a teasing grin, watching Jean’s reluctant smile.

“That’s not funny.”

“You still smiled.”

  
  
“It was out of pity. It didn’t mean anything.”

“You wound me, my love.”

Hermione had pretty much passed out at that point and Hugo took a couple of the sweets from her Halloween pile, tossing one to Jean and taking one for himself, sucking on the hard-boiled sherbet lemon with a small wince at the sourness.

Hermione had never liked sherbet lemons very much.

He carried his baby sister to her room, kissing her wild curls gently as he lay her down in the bedroom they had given to her. She still had faint red paint smearing her skin, which hopefully wouldn’t stain their sheets too badly. Maybe Jean still had some of that magic fabric cleaner left if they were stained. She’d given him some after he and Harold had painted his bedsheets with the words _‘Go To Prom With Me, Jean Halls?’_ and hung them from the ceiling in their form room at school. She had scoffed, but flushed and nodded and he had grinned, kissing her in front of everyone. He was still ruminating on his sheet-related exploits when he made it downstairs.

Jean was stood crying in the middle of the room.

He rushed over to her, trying to find out what was wrong.

One of his mother’s friends had just called.

His parents were dead.

* * *

Hermione closed her book with a grin, heaving the heavy tome up onto her already overstuffed bookshelf. She sighed, staring up at her ceiling, impossibly bored. The sky was only just beginning to lighten, casting shadows across her ceiling. It was dawn on her eleventh birthday and she was impossibly nervous, although she didn’t really know why.

She had been up almost all night, stewing in anticipation for the next day. It would only be another hour until Jeanie and Hugo would be awake and then she could open her presents. She loved her brother and sister-in-law more than anything in the world. Jeanie had always been her best friend, always on her side and ever-patient. Hermione and Hugo, on the other hand, butted heads a lot, but she always trusted him. She tried to be just like her eldest brother when she was a kid, laughing at what he laughed at, doing what he did. They were too similarly stubborn to not fight with each other.

When she was younger, she had accidentally called them Mum and Dad. Both of them had cried and she didn’t understand why. She pretends she doesn’t remember. She pretends she doesn’t call them her parents in her head sometimes.

She shifted slightly, turning her gaze to the book she had just triumphantly finished. It was a book about university level physics that Hugo had balked at. Complicated, yes, but she recognised it distantly, as though she had known it all along. Maybe that was just because she was “naturally extremely precocious” and "far too talented to remain in the lower years of school".

She just understood things that she shouldn’t have at the age of eleven.

Quantum physics being one.

Grief being another.

She had been moved up two years at school and it was still pitifully easy. A fellow classmate at Yew and Holly Secondary School named Betty Goodwin had once shoved her to the ground, breaking Hermione’s arm for being ‘ _too smart, a swotty little show-off’._ Betty had later come out of their classroom covered in boils and warts, sniffling pathetically. People avoided Hermione after that.

Odd things were commonplace around Hermione. Like when she didn’t like a haircut Jeanie had given her and the next day it had grown back exactly the way it had before. Or the way she could make flowers sprout around her and butterflies land on her nose and birds whistle above her. Or the way she just knew things instinctually.

Hermione sighed, pushing the duvet cover off of her and clambering out of bed. It was only seven in the morning, but she couldn’t stay in bed for a second longer. She showered quietly and changed into a dress Jeanie had bought specifically for her birthday. It was golden and red and the colours made her ache for something she couldn't recall.

She ignored the small pile of presents, waiting for Jean and Hugo to come down instead, flipping to the beginning of her book and beginning to read about the fundamentals of aerodynamics.

It had been a happy birthday. Jean and Hugo both kissed her head when they came downstairs and allowed her cake for breakfast. Her presents consisted mostly of books, but there was also some jewellery from Jeanie and some new clothes. Jeanie and Hugo were taking her to the zoo later. She didn’t have the heart to tell them she felt queasy at the thought of seeing the poor defenceless animals locked into their cages. She loved her family but they didn’t understand her. Hermione hugged them both, thanking them enthusiastically. She wondered if she was missing her parents, if that was why she felt filled with anticipation, with adrenaline. She never really thought about her parents much. She barely remembered them anymore. 

She curled back onto the sofa and settled back into her book, trying to ignore her racing thoughts.

There was a knock at the door.

Jean rushed to open it, smoothing her hair and smiling prettily.

“Hello, does Miss Hermione Granger live here? My name is Professor McGonagall.”

* * *


	3. The Alley

* * *

_“How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags?/What is’t you do?”_ — Macbeth, Act Four Scene One 

* * *

CHAPTER TWO: The Alley

* * *

"A witch?”

The tall, stern woman nodded again, and Hermione felt a current of excitement run up her spine. She was different. There was a reason for her restlessness. She hadn't just been imagining it.

"What is a witch?" Hermione asked the woman.

The woman pushed her square glasses up her nose. "A witch, young lady, is a woman who can perform magic.”

" _Yes_ , but what kind of magic?" Hermione pressed. "In some books, witches can cure sickness with herbs. In some, they can cast curses. In other ones, they dance naked under moonlight. In still others, they talk to devils and do evil things during the night.”

The tall woman softened, her pursed lips relaxing slightly.

"I daresay witches do many of those things, though not the talking-to-devils part," she said, eyes flickering with amusement. "And I've never met a witch that admitted to dancing naked, let alone outside.”

“And alchemy? Do you do that? And potions and charms and hexes and spells and jinxes and —“

“Calm down, Hermione.” Jean admonished lightly, taking pity on the wide-eyed Professor McGonagall.

“Yes, we do all of those things and more. Alchemy is a very esoteric subject though, most notably studied by Nicholas Flamel. The rest are commonplace subjects taught within the school.”

“And this school, what sort of qualifications do you provide?” Hugo asked, eyes narrowed at the woman.

“We offer OWLs, Ordinary Wizarding Levels in the Fifth Year, and NEWTs, Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests in the Seventh Year.” She said primly, as though that meant anything to Hugo, Jean or Hermione.

“And her GCSEs? Or her A-Levels?” Jean asked gently.

“We don’t offer muggle qualifications.” The woman explained lightly.

Hermione turned to her brother, practically bouncing with excitement. Both he and Jeanie looked skeptical.

“And maths? English? Science?” Hugo prompted.

“Arithmancy can be taken from the Third Year onwards. Students are expected to attend being able to read and write.” She added, eyes darting to the tome on Hermione’s lap. “Although that doesn't seem to be an issue in this case. First Year students will take Transfiguration, which I teach, as well as Charms, Herbology, Astronomy, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“I’m sorry, but Hermione is not going to a school where she won’t be taught anything of actual substance. I’m not entirely sure this isn’t a prank yet.” Jean sounded tired. Hermione felt a little guilty.

“I’ll take my GCSEs now, you know I’ll pass. The re-sits are coming up in a couple of months. And then there won’t be any issue!” She grinned at her brother who smiled back at her, albeit reluctantly. He looked concerned more than anything.

“Are there any other magical schools available? So that we can see what the best choice will be for Hermione?”

“Not in Great Britain, no.” 

“Hugo, can I have a word?” Jean asked quietly, the two of them stepping into the kitchen and beginning to whisper to each other.

“Are there, um, books? You know, about magic and stuff?”

“What kind of school would be be without books, Miss Granger?” She asked fondly, looking down at the young girl. "Is this at all what you expected your eleventh birthday to be like?” Professor McGonagall asked, a small smile on her face.

“Actually, kind of, now that you mention it.” She responded, knowing she probably looked puzzled. The Professor laughed gaily at her reply. “I think I had a dream like this. It’s hazy now.” Her voice was more wistful and the woman had stopped laughing and just stared at her with wide eyes.

Hugo and Jean walked back in at that moment, looking sad and resolute.

“Hermione can go.” Hugo said simply, looking at his baby sister.

"Can I go now?" Hermione asked, bouncing. "Do I get to go now?” Professor McGonagall looked down at her fondly, all fear faded from her expression.

"Unfortunately, your term has yet to start," she told her. "I have brought your acceptance letter, however, and I can take you to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies early, if you'd like."

  
She handed Hermione a letter, which the girl opened with reverent fingers, almost shaking.

* * *

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress

* * *

Hermione paused.

"You communicate by owl?" she asked, and the woman nodded. Hermione went back to reading, before slowly gazing up at the tall woman. “Can we buy my stuff today?”“As long as it is alright with your parents.” McGonagall replied.

“I’m her brother, actually. Her legal guardian.” He further clarified. McGonagall suddenly looked very sad.

“My apologies.”

“Well, we may as well go today. I know Hermione wants to.” Jean said lightly. Hermione grinned, trying not to look too pleased with herself, but she knew Hugo had caught sight of her glee, since he nudged her lightly.

“Would you like me to accompany you?”

“No, thank you.” Jean said swiftly, shaking her head decisively. “We’ll take Hermione ourselves. If you could just inform us how to get there, how much money to take and Hermione’s instructions for getting on the train, that will be all.” Professor McGonagall nodded, explaining to them about the Hogwarts Express and the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione listened, thoroughly enchanted. Jean and Hugo looked pensive.

Professor McGonagall left, smiling at Hermione and disappearing with a crack.

“Right then. So magic exists.” Hugo said, staring after the Professor in shock.

He then promptly fainted.

* * *

Living in London, their destination was merely thirty minutes on the tube away. She shifted excitedly, but she wasn’t completely unaware of the shared looks between Hugo and Jean.

The Leaky Cauldron was not what she expected. The pub was dingy and drab, the patrons a mix between cheery and outright terrifying. Hermione stuck close to Hugo, who was giving them his best intimidating glare. Jeanie had her hand wrapped firmly around Hermione’s and she didn’t protest because she knew how utterly terrified they were.

“Um, are you Tom?” Jeanie asked the man behind the bar. He smiled, entirely toothless, and nodded once.

“Would you be able to let us into the Alley?” He nodded and walked out one of the doors. Hermione followed, nervous, as he led them to a brick wall. He was tapping it in an odd pattern and then the wall opened. 

He waved at them and Hermione barely had the wherewithal to wave back.

It was marvellous. 

Diagon Alley was bustling and colourful and brilliant. Her eyes glued to every shop window and she suspected that Hugo and Jean’s were too. Hermione took a few steps forward, feeling very much at home. Everything felt oddly familiar here. Like a memory from a dream. 

“She said Gringotts first? The bank?” Hermione prompted her brother. He nodded once, gulping as he looked around. “You’re not going to faint again, are you?”“Oi, don’t be rude.” He responded teasingly, ruffling her hair. “Gringotts it is. Now where is it?”“Follow me,” Hermione replied lightly, walking straight ahead to the towering marble building.

“How do you know where we’re going?” Jean asked, her hand still squeezing Hermione’s tightly. She didn’t reply, not really knowing the answer herself. 

Gringotts, while fascinating, was also incredibly dull. The goblins were interesting, but she didn’t want to outwardly gawk at them. Everything else looked like it belonged in a typical muggle bank, except more luxurious and grand. Most of their time was spent waiting for the goblins to exchange their money. Both Hugo and Jean looked uneasy, but Hermione simply thanked the Goblins brightly and left.

Madame Malkins, similarly, was dull. She was never fond of shopping. The magical tape measure was cool, but getting stuck with a pin more than once was enough to dull her joy.

The Apothecary was fun. The ingredients fizzed and sparked and her eyes were fixed on the example potion brewing near the back of the shop. Eeylops’ Owl Emporium was fascinating too, as was the Magical Menagerie. She and her parents agreed to not buy a pet yet. They looked a little bit too freaked out by everything for her to really stake her claim on buying a pet.

Flourish and Blott’s was heaven on earth. 

There were so many books. It was incredible. And they were spell books.

Hermione couldn’t look away. Her brother allowed her three extra books and she picked them carefully: one entitled ‘A Study of Alchemy’ by Nicholas Flamel, piquing her interest as it reminded her of her conversation with McGonagall; another called ‘Purebloods Throughout History: A Study On Pureblood Manners’, since she knew absolutely nothing about what a pureblood even was or what sort of etiquette she should bring to Hogwarts; finally, ‘Hogwarts, A History’ by Bathilda Bagshot. She fell in love with the book the moment she spotted it. She didn’t know why.

Their last stop was Ollivanders’. Jean looked around nervously, trying not to sneeze at the copious amounts of dust in the room. Hugo had his arm wrapped around her, stroking her arm softly with his thumb.

“Hello!” Jean jumped, whirling around to face the sound of the voice. Hermione followed her gaze, looking at the silvery-eyed man before her. He looked, frankly, a little bit manic. “Here to buy a wand? Are you a Hogwarts student?”“Yes, sir.”

"Now, now..." said the man looking at her "what's your name, dear?”

"Hermione Granger, sir,”

"Let's see... Which one is your wand hand?”

"The right one, sir, I think.” Hermione answered.

“Very good, very good. Ah, I know just what to do with you.” He disappeared behind the counter and reappeared with one box in his hands.

“Oak and unicorn tail, 10 inches. Springy, good for charms.” He gestured to the wand and Hermione picked it up, swishing it lightly at the man’s behest. Nothing happened, but the man half-wrestled it out of her hands anyway. “No, no, that won’t do at all. I know what’ll do the trick!”He disappeared again, another three boxes in his arms. She tried each of them, yet either nothing happened or something exploded every time.

“Now, this one should be a perfect match. Ten and three-quarter inches, vine wood and dragon heartstring.” She took it and it felt familiar, like home. Her fingers traced the grooves lightly as she flicked it.

Nothing happened.

“A difficult customer, Miss Granger, but never fear! I have found a match for every customer who has walked into my shop.”Thirteen wands later and she was starting to believe she would be the first one he hadn’t found a match for. Ollivander himself looked positively gleeful at this, instead of irritated like she feared he would be. 

“Ah, I wonder…” His footsteps stalled and he headed to the front of his shop. On a dusty purple cushion on the front window ledge there was one box which looked untouched. Ollivander blew the dust away (which made Jeanie sneeze loudly) and pulled the wand out of the box. It looked sort of like a burnt tree, with a black handle and a chestnut tip. The handle had small bumps in a few locations, almost as if it would be uncomfortable to hold. “11" long, made of holly, with a phoenix feather core. Nice and supple."

His hands were shaking slightly, reverent, as he placed the wand into her hands.

Hermione _glowed_.

This felt like fire and ice and joy and grief and life and death.

This made her think of danger and deceit and love and happiness.

She flicked the wand, the movement instinctual.

Red and gold sparks erupted from the end, leaving fireworks imprinted on her eyes.

“Ah yes, that’s your wand.” Ollivander added, quite unnecessarily, taking it from her and wrapping it in the box. “Very curious. Curiouser and curiouser.”

“What’s curious, sir?” Hugo asked, blinking away his wonder.

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Miss Granger. The core of this here wand was given by a phoenix, who gave but one other feather. I think we can expect great things from you, Miss Granger. The owner of the twin wand is doing great things. Terrible things, yes. But great.”

All three of them stood shell-shocked, watching Ollivander nervously. His eyes had turned steely and dark, his voice cruel and harsh.

“That’ll be seven galleons.” He said, suddenly lightening and almost shoving her wand at her. “I have a letter to write.”

With that, he drifted to the back of his shop.

The three Grangers stood in silence for a few moments.

“Let’s go home.” Jean said quietly, keeping a tight hold on Hermione until they reached their quaint little cottage.

Hermione flopped back on her bed, half-terrified, half-exhausted. She could hear Hugo and Jean fighting.

She slept.

She did not dream.

* * *


	4. The Beginning

* * *

_“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?“_ — As You Like It, Act Two Scene Seven

* * *

CHAPTER THREE: The Beginning

* * *

The first thing she did was take her GCSEs, which she easily passed with flying colours. Jeanie and Hugo had celebrated by finally taking her to the zoo. She was particularly interested in the owls, but still wondered if they'd be happier being freed. As soon as she had finished with her muggle work, however, she began on magic.

Real life _magic_.

She adored the coursework. She read all her books, some more than once, before sitting down in the middle of October and beginning to practice.

Magic was brilliant.

She was good at it. Some felt instinctual. Some felt like muscle memory. Sometimes, she could almost see herself doing magic, like an out-of-body experience.

Hermione had flown through the First Year books and had used her Christmas money to buy the Second and Third Year texts as well. Once again, they were fairly simple to her, but she felt at least a little more challenged. Her next step was to begin practicing non-verbal spells. And then, eventually, wandless magic.

She had read about both and found them fascinating. Non-verbal magic was easier than anticipated, but wandless magic was just the type of challenge she had been craving. (She could to the very simple spells now; it exhausted her to do anything more.)

Hugo and Jean were still uneasy up until around May the next year. They had finally grown used to the floating books and the mice she transfigured out of Jean’s fine china and the way it made her happy.

It was idyllic. But still…

She wanted to go to Hogwarts.

* * *

Jean was crying.  
  
Jean never cried.

Hermione hugged her pseudo-mother tightly, praying she would stop sobbing so that Hermione wouldn’t start.

“I’m going to miss you, sweetheart.”

“I’ll miss you more, Jeanie. Oh my god, please do not make me cry.” Jean laughed wetly into her tightly braided curls, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Jean stroked her hair fondly.

"Just… try to make friends there, too, love. Don't just focus on your studies.”

Hermione took a step back and took a deep breath, trying to settle herself. “Okay. But you should have worded that better. Now I’ll just use that as an excuse to do no work.”

“You? Not do work? The sky would fall before that happened!”

“Just because you’re sad doesn’t mean you can be mean to me, Jeanie.”

“Alright, I’m letting go now.” She wiped away her tears, grinning at her. “Be prepared for Hugo, he’s a million times more emotional than I am.”

“And here’s you saying I have the emotional range of a teaspoon, love.” Hugo teased, wrapping his arm around his wife’s shoulder.

  
  
“It’s graduated to a tablespoon now.” She sniffed, making Hermione and Hugo laugh.

“Alright, Hermione Jean, listen up,” Hugo began, winking at her, “No books, no work, get as many detentions as possible.”

“Will do,” She said with a grin, “Bet you I can beat you in detentions?”

  
  
“I got 312 detentions in seven years of school, Hermione. I was _evil_. You’ll never beat that.”

“The fact you remember that is appalling, Hugo. You’re 28 years old.” Jean muttered, still wiping her eyes.

“I remember how many detentions you got too, Jean. Just the one.” He taunted, making his wife scowl.

“That’s because of you and you know it!”

  
  
“Jean, love, just admit you’re as evil as me and —"

“If you’re so sure I’ll never beat it,” Hermione interjected, trying to halt the oncoming argument, “make the bet.”

“Deal.”

“Hugo!” Jean was scandalised enough to be shocked out of her tears. Hermione laughed at her brother’s nonchalant expression.

“What? She’s never going to win. And when I do, I’ll be making her give up reading for a whole week.” Hermione feigned fainting and Hugo nudged her with a grin.

“And when I win, Jeanie,” Hermione began with a grin, “Hugo has to give me driving lessons in his fancy car.” Hugo gasped and Jean laughed brightly.

“You’d never! That car is my pride and joy!”

“I just did. And besides, I thought Jeanie and I were your pride and joy?”

“You’re a joint close second, Little Lion."

“Hermione, looks like it’s time to get going.” Jean said mournfully, interrupting their fight. She hugged both Hugo and Hermione tightly, which made both of them squirm. “Now, we love you, be good, don’t eat too many sweets and remember to brush your teeth.”

  
  
“We’ll see you at Christmas, Little Lion. And if you don’t write to me about your fancy new magic school, I’ll kill you.”

  
  
“Love you both too. Okay, well, I’ll see you later.”

They both waved at her fondly as she raced through the brick wall, as per McGonagall’s instructions almost a whole year ago.

She was finally going _home_.

* * *

The platform was vibrant and bustling. She manoeuvred her luggage cart to one of the doors and heaved it on, dragging her trunk to an empty carriage. It was at the very end of the train, decorated with green and red tartan and mahogany wood. She settled into one of the surprisingly comfy seats, smoothing out her flared jeans and fixing the thick red jumper she was wearing. It was surprisingly warm on the train and she curled up into the seat, feeling her anxious nerves dissipate.

This felt familiar.

She tugged one of newer books out (‘The Founders Four’ by Lawrence Hart) and quickly lost herself in the story of Salazar and Godric’s famous dispute.

Her peace didn’t last for long, however, as the carriage door swung open and two boys rushed in.

“Hi, can we sit here? Everywhere else is full, you see.” Asked one of the boys. He almost reminded her of a puppy, with eyes that were a steely bluish-grey. His hair was long and black, a wide grin taking precedence on his face. He was wearing formal clothes, although they had been mussed up beyond belief.

“Sure.” She said brightly, prompting the two boys to take a seat on the opposite side of the carriage. The other was tall, with black hair that seemed to stick up in every direction. He had hazel eyes, hidden by square glasses. He was tall and lanky already, and would certainly tower above her.

“I’m Hermione Granger.” She said politely, sticking out her hand. James moved to shake it and she gave him a wide smile.

“I’m James Potter, this is—“

  
  
“Sirius Black, most humbly at your service.” He shook her hand exuberantly, half-beaming at her. “What house do you want to go into, then?” He asked eagerly.

“I’m thinking Slytherin.” She said, just to watch both of them recoil. She laughed brilliantly as they did. “Only joking, I’d like Gryffindor. Although Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad.”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack.” James complained, rubbing his chest as though actually hurt. “I think I’d rather die than go into Slytherin.”

“Where are you after then?” She asked.

“Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart, like my dad.” Said James excitedly, puffing out his chest and beaming at Hermione.

“My whole family’s been in Slytherin.” Sirius said dejectedly, a sad look overtaking his previously joyful face. Hermione winced slightly, remembering James’s insensitive comments about Slytherin.

“Blimey, and I thought you were alright.” Said James, laughing slightly as Hermione scowled at him.

“You aren’t your family, Sirius.” She said, sitting up and putting her book away, feeling as though she wasn’t going to get to read much more. “I asked where you wanted to go, not where you were expected to. Although, if you wanted to go into Slytherin, that’s fine too.” A large grin overtook his face and he looked her up and down.

“I’ve decided you’re my new best friend.” He said decisively, making James gasp in mock-horror.

“You’ve replaced me already? Hermione, watch out. This one’ll break your heart.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” She replied drily.

At that moment, the train stirred to life, beginning to thunder out of the station. James half-shoved his head out the window, waving to a couple watching him with bittersweet looks on their faces.

“You don’t have anyone to wave to?” Sirius asked, sounding somewhat upset at the thought.

“My brother and his wife dropped me off outside the platform. They’re muggles.” She said simply.

“Oh,” Hermione winced at that reaction, half-expecting him to call her something nasty, “that means you know all about muggle stuff, right?”

  
  
“You’d hope so, seeing as I’ve lived in a muggle house for the last eleven years.”

“That solidifies your status as my new best friend. James is hopeless.” James, who stuck his head back into the carriage at this moment, made another offended noise and slumping childishly into his seat. She giggled at that, which made Sirius grin at her.

There was a short knock on their compartment door before it was opened.

There was a girl with pin-straight red hair and bright green eyes, all peaches and cream. She was already wearing a plain Hogwarts uniform, pressed neatly. Behind her was a sallow boy with greasy black hair and a hooked nose, his Hogwarts uniform looking ratty and unkepmt. Both of them seemed to survey the carriage; the boy seemed to want to hold back and go somewhere else but the girl bounced in, bright eyes.

“Hello, I’m Lily Evans. This is Severus Snape. Can we sit in here? Everywhere else is full.” James immediately scrambled up and ran his hands through his hair, trying to look suave.

  
“Yeah, that’s cool.” He said, putting on a slightly deeper voice. Hermione grinned, watching the two pull their trunks into the compartment and get settled in.

“I’m James Potter.” James half-shouted after they had both sat down. Lily blinked in what appeared to be a mixture of befuddlement and shock, smiling back at him brightly. James sighed, love-struck.

“Nice to meet you, James. Who are you two?"

  
  
“I’m Hermione Granger.”

  
  
“Sirius Black.” They all smiled at each other, an odd sort of tension in the air. Severus was scowling heavily, glaring at Hermione when she tried to smile at him.

“So, Hermione, what house do you want to be in?” Asked Lily from where she was sat on the other side of the compartment, obviously looking desperate to escape the claustrophobic silence.

“I’m thinking Gryffindor, like the rest of these idiots. Ravenclaw doesn’t seem too bad though.” She said lightly. “How about you?”

“Oh, I’d love Ravenclaw. Sev wants to go into Slytherin and I’d quite like to go with him, but I don’t think I’m nearly sneaky enough.” She saw Sirius and James both wince, but Lily was so caught up in speaking that she didn’t notice. “ I don’t think Hufflepuff is for me. Gryffindor sounds alright, but it's not really my thing. Sev said it's filled with loads of troublemakers. And I'm quite studious. And quiet. And I'm not a troublemaker or a rabble-rouser. At least, I don't think so."

 _'Methinks the lady doth protest too much',_ Hermione thought lightly, just _knowing_ the red-head would end up in the house of the lions.

“Well I want Gryffindor!” James said, his voice still obnoxiously loud. Severus snorted, glaring at him.

“It’s fine, if you’d rather be brawny than brainy.” His voice was acerbic and cold. Hermione instantly disliked him. Jeanie had taught her that if she had nothing nice to say, she shouldn’t say anything.

“Oh? And where do you plan to go, seeing as you’re neither?” James asked back snottily.

“I’ve heard even Hufflepuff won’t take greasy-haired gits.” Sirius added, instantly defending his new friend’s honour.

“That’s enough! Come on, Sev, let’s go find another compartment.” The red head glared at Sirius and James, but offered a nod and smile to Hermione. She then stormed out, nose pointed high in the air, lugging her trunk behind her.

Snape began to follow, but Sirius stuck his legs out, making him tumble to the floor with a loud thud.

“Oh, apologies, Snivellus, I didn’t see you there.” Snape stood up, humiliated by James and Sirius laughing and looked at Hermione.

“I’d watch out if I were you, Granger. Lots of people around here don't like muggleborns. Especially Blacks.” Hermione bristled and both boys shouted out in indignation.

“I’m not surprised you can’t keep your nose out of other people’s business when you have one as large as that.” James guffawed behind her and she narrowed her eyes further at Snape, a hand resting on the wand in her pocket. Snape merely smirked, slamming the compartment door shut behind him.

The silence was deafening.

“Hermione, you know I don’t believe what my family —“ Began Sirius, a worried look on his face.

“You know, Sirius, if you really hated muggleborns, you’d have left by now. It’s fine.” She said, a small smile on her face as she saw the relief wash over all of the boys faces.

“Bloody hell, Granger, you really aren’t stuck up.” Said James, now beginning to laugh, which they all eventually joined in on.

There was another knock at the door, timid, and they all half-groaned.

“Are they coming back to shout at us more?”

“Um, hullo. Lily and the other boy asked if I could switch compartments with them?”

* * *


	5. The Boats

* * *

“Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall” — Measure for Measure, Act 2, Scene 1

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR: The Boats

* * *

There was a boy covered with scars. He had sandy brown hair and amber eyes. His clothes looked cared for, if a little shabby. He was much taller than her and seemed extremely awkward.

“Do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full.” He said quietly.

“Yeah, come on. I’ll warn you, James and Sirius are very annoying.” She said with a grin.

“Oi! I’ve been nothing but a perfect gentleman.” Sirius protested.

“He’s lying.” She and James said at the same time. Sirius scowled at the two of them and the new boy laughed, taking his seat beside Hermione. He smiled as he sat down and stuck out his hand to her.

“Remus Lupin.” He said, his bright amber eyes emanating nervousness. She shook his hand gently and introduced herself.

“Hermione Granger.”

It was at that moment Sirius half-shoved his hand in Remus’s face.

“Sirius Black, at your service.” He shook Remus’s hand so enthusiastically it looked as though he were about to rip his arm off.

“I’m James Potter. What house do you want to be in?” He said, just as energetic and enthusiastic as Sirius.

It turned out he wanted to be in Gryffindor too, although he didn’t think Ravenclaw would be too bad.

The four of them been talking about the classes they were excited for, leading Hermione and Remus into an enthusiastic decision about what they had already been practicing and their favourite book (“Oh, Merlin!” James had protested, looking at them in faux-horror, “We’ve made friends with the swots. This is awful!” Hermione had kicked him in retaliation and they all laughed.)

She had immediately loved these three boys. 

Remus was quiet and reserved, but he was funny and kind-hearted and had given Hermione a couple of his Chocolate Frog cards when she hadn’t known what they were. He was a little awkward and often seemed as though he couldn’t believe that he was their new friend. He was also very intelligent, picking up on the fact she had been named after Hermione from ‘A WInter’s Tale’.

James, however, was very brash and bold and it was obvious he was going to be a Gryffindor. He was messy and noisy, but reminded her of something like home and she instantly liked him more for that. He was funny, too, and a stalwart Quidditch fanatic, something he had explained to her in great detail and she had pretended to understand.

Sirius was in a whole different league to James, although they were as crazy as each other. He was funny, although some of his jokes were a lot wittier than James’s were. He was always grinning, although he sometimes, when he thought none of them were looking, looked very scared. He made funny faces and told her jokes as they sat together and she found herself making just as many back. 

All three of them were seemingly intent on making each other happy and less nervous.

They were marvellous.

* * *

Hogwarts was magical.

Cliché, Hermione knew, but the castle was positively brimming with raw, undiluted magic. James and Sirius, whilst initially finding it funny to rock their small rowboat, much to Hermione and Remus’s horror, had stopped when the castle came into view. The four of them were quiet for the first time since they met, eyes glued to their new school as the boat bumped gently onto the shore.

“Wicked!” James decreed, turning to the others and grinning at them. “This year’s gonna be mega cool. Think of all the pranks we can pull—“

“All the shame we can bring on our family name—“ Sirius added, eyes aglow in the moonlight.

“All the detentions!“ Hermione interjected, her tone a mix of both horror and excitement. Remus simply grinned at her brightly, the four of them clambering out of the boat and ambling up the giant hill together, shoving at each other and laughing, joining the group of students waiting at the front. She and Lily made eye contact, the two girls smiling at each other until there were a few sparse gasps.

The wooden doors opened slowly, revealing Professor McGonagall, cloaked in emerald green, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. 

“Hello, First Years and welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For those of you who do not know me, I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House.” She scanned the crowd, smiling at Hermione as she did so.

“The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.  
‘The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.  
‘The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.” She said, giving a pointed look to James, who had chocolate covering his face from their explanation of what Fizzing Whizbees were. He swiped his hand across his face and McGonagall swept from the entrance of the castle, presumably to the Great Hall.

“How’d you suppose we get sorted then?” Asked Remus, his brows furrowed.

“My cousin Bella says you have to fight a troll,” Sirius complained, scrunching his nose, “but she also told me that Slytherin was the best house to be in, so I think she was probably lying.”

“Maybe you have to take a test?” James suggested, still effusively wiping his mouth.

“Like a test of what magic you already know?” Remus’s voice was quavering, suddenly fearful. “Oh, I should have revised on the train.” He lamented, woefully turning his gaze to Hermione.

“It might be a personality test instead of an academic one. Like the Myers-Briggs test?” She suggested lightly, attempting to quell Remus’s rampant fear. Before he could answer, McGonagall reentered, looking at them all critically.

“Come along.” She said once, sharply. Immediately, everyone began following, the foursome hanging back slightly so as to continue talking. 

“I’ve never heard of that.” James said as they began walking.

“Think of it as a chart of what values and morals you hold most dear. Like, intelligence or bravery or humour. From whichever answers you give, it determines which type you embody most.” She half-whispered, looking at James and Remus, who looked understanding and relieved respectively. 

Sirius, on the other hand, was chewing his lip, his face white as a sheet. She was a little worried he might throw up in front of everyone. Out of instinct, she grabbed his hand and clutched it in hers. His face, whilst slightly red, relaxed slightly and his hand squeezed hers back. His grip was firm, as if he were afraid of falling. Together, they walked through the throng of people towards the Great Hall, James and Remus close behind.

This felt _right_.

* * *


	6. The Sorting

* * *

_“When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff”_ — Julius Caesar, Act 3, Scene 2

* * *

  
CHAPTER FIVE: The Sorting

* * *

The Great Hall was everything and nothing she expected. 

It was actually smaller than she had thought, especially for such a grand and mighty castle. But the ceiling… oh, this was ineffable. _‘Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?_ ’ She thought with a grin. She had hated that quote as a child, had ranted to Hugo and Jeanie about the inaccuracy of the love at first sight trope, had condemned the actions of many Disney princesses, rolled her eyes at fairy tales — much to the protestation of Hugo, who claimed to have loved Jeanie from the first moment their eyes met. She had scoffed, inciting a three day long argument, only stopped when Jeanie intervened.

She understood now.

She _adored_ Hogwarts.

Her attention was drawn to the ragged, sagging hat in front of the staff table, which looked water-stained and frankly unsanitary. Remus turned to her in question but she simply shrugged. It definitely looked somewhat familiar, like a memory from a dream. Before her introspection could continue any further, the brim of the hat cracked open, the fabric righting itself before beginning to sing.

James made a short squeal of shock from beside her, making her and Remus snort loudly. Sirius spent most of the song trying to hide his laughter and she fought the urge to bury her face in her hand.

The song finished and there were gratuitous cheers from the swarm of older students. Of course, until McGonagall stepped beside the stool, eyeing the students with a cold glare. In the hall’s immediate silence, the professor turned to the gaggle of First Years.

“When I call your name, you will place the hat on your head.” There was a lot of nervous shuffling and Hermione found Remus desperately grabbing for her other hand. She smiled at him reassuringly. In contrast to Sirius and Remus’s anxiety, James was buzzing with excitement, watching eagerly as Abbot, Holly was placed into Hufflepuff.

Avery, Ares walked up to the Sorting Hat and she watched Sirius’s throat bob nervously.

“Worried?” She whispered, nudging his arm lightly.

“Me? Never. World’s my oyster and all that.” He said, eyes darting to hers. “Are you?”

“I wasn’t until you asked.” He chuckled, squeezing her hand tightly as Avery was sorted into Slytherin.

“Black, Sirius.” Professor McGonagall announced. Sirius released her hand, giving her a cocky smirk and sauntered to the Sorting Hat. She renewed her tight grip on Remus’s hand.

“Oh ho, tricky, tricky.” The Hat said finally. “Well, if you’re sure. Better be Gryffindor!” Dead silence. 

It seemed no one knew what to do with a Black sorted anywhere but Slytherin.

She, James and Remus shared a look before clapping and cheering as egregiously as they could, catching the attention of everyone in the hall. Sirius grinned at them, looking slightly brighter for the first time since they had arrived at the castle. The Gryffindors eventually cottoned on, beginning to cheer for Sirius as well. He swaggered to the red and gold table, shaking a few hands as he sat down and gave them a thumbs up.

Hermione watched as Bones, Lucy, went to Hufflepuff and Cartwright, Delly went to Ravenclaw, swiftly followed by Daniels, Oscar. As soon as Evans, Lily was announced, James perked up even more, grinning as she twisted nervously under the Sorting Hat’s judgements. After three minutes, the longest time so far, she was sorted into Gryffindor, much to Lily’s apparent dismay. James was positively beaming by this point and Hermione restrained the urge to roll her eyes. Hermione zoned out for the next few sortings, eyes darting to the starry ceiling.

"Granger, Hermione!”

She jumped, grinning at Remus as she released his hand. Hermione walked to the front of the Hall with every bit of confidence she could muster, determined to stay calm despite the entire school watching her. Clouds began to roll across the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall and she felt very, very small. There was something mystical about this ritual, despite the mundane appearance of the hat, and her heart was in her throat as she approached the stool. She sat down, and with a deep breath, settled the it on her head.

“Oh, how very interesting!” The Hat proclaimed. She jumped, but the rest of the hall looked motionless. “Such a pretty mind, dear. I’ve not seen one like this in a long time. You have a great destiny.” She shifted uncomfortably; the Hat’s voice was oddly penetrating, oddly invasive. 

‘ _Uneasy lies the head that wears the Sorting Hat._ ’ Hermione thought wryly and the Hat laughed loudly, the sound echoing around the crevasses of her skull.

“Now, where to put you? Heart of a Gryffindor, mind of a Ravenclaw, ambition of a Slytherin and compassion of a Hufflepuff. I’ve not seen a mind like this in a long time… I daresay the Founders would be fighting over you if they were here, dear.”

“Thank you.” She thought, still slightly wary of the Hat. She wondered vaguely what charm Gryffindor had used on the 

“Ah, I see… not Hufflepuff, your trust is hard-won, even if it doesn’t falter. And you like knowledge, but not just for knowledge’s sake, so Ravenclaw is out too.”

“Really?” She thought incredulously. “I always imagined I would end up in Ravenclaw or Gryffindor.”

“You're a mixed bag, to be certain. Clever, extremely clever, and brave, to be sure. But this longing… this ambition… How very Slytherin.” She furrowed her eyebrows, looking to Gryffindor where Sirius was grinning at her. And then she remembered James and Sirius’s fervent denunciation of all Slytherins and she winced. 

Lurid green eyes flashed across her vision and the Hat hummed inquisitively, an invasive digging feeling gnawing at her brain. Silence reigned for a moment, before the Hat began laughing raucously. It seemed to gather itself after a few moments.

“So it is loyalty over your aspirations? Ambition should be made of sterner stuff, Miss Granger.” 

“Wait, what were you laughing at?“

“It would ruin everything to tell you now, Miss Granger. Trust me.”

“Please, I—“

“Better be Gryffindor!” She sat stock-still for a moment, before shakily standing, following the cheers of Sirius. He was positively beaming at her. James and Remus were also making an ungodly amount of noise. She had composed herself by the time she has made it to him, grinning brightly as she sat opposite the table to him.

“You were a nearly a hat-stall, you know. You only needed twelve more seconds.” Sirius informed her as they watched Jordan, Alex get sorted into Hufflepuff.

“What can I say, Black, I’m a complex girl.” He snorted, nudging her arm lightly. 

It was Remus’s turn soon after hers. His whole face blanched when his name got called, but his sorting was barely thirty seconds long. Remus seemed immensely proud and relieved as he sank into the seat beside her, his uniform now adorned with red and gold.

A mousy boy McGonagall called Pettigrew, Peter, was sent to Slytherin, eyeing their table jealously. 

“Do you know him?” Hermione whispered to Remus. “He’s staring at us.”

“I was in his compartment before Lily and Snape asked to switch. There was already one seat spare so I volunteered to switch.” She hummed in response, the rat-like boy glaring at her slightly before taking his seat in Slytherin.

James, still buzzing with unrestrained excitement, was sent to Gryffindor, the Hat barely brushing his head before making its choice. He swaggered over to them, beaming brilliantly. 

“This must be destiny or something!” He exclaimed exuberantly, sliding into the chair beside Sirius, “All of being together! We’re like… soulmates.” Hermione and Remus laughed, but Sirius was nodding.

“We definitely are. James, would you like to get married?” Hermione’s wheeze of laughter was undermined by Lily’s loud groan as Snape was sorted into Slytherin. Wisely, the boys held their tongues and didn’t say anything.

When the final person was sorted, Hermione surveyed the Gryffindor table. There was barely any of them, especially in comparison the other houses. The only boys were James, Remus and Sirius. Lily, herself and a girl called Mary McDonald, who looked just as nervous as the Pettigrew boy, made up the female cohort. 

Hermione looked back up to the Sorting Hat, which Professor McGonagall was taking away, along with the school.

She swore it winked at her as it was carried away.

* * *


End file.
